From sleepless nights to blissful dreams,
A drastic change from chaos to peace.
From your departure, I was hurt,
But now from sadness, I divert.

Like a dart hits a bullseye's iris,
Your presence, that's how I miss.
With this paper and pen,
I admit, I think of you now and then.

But you are my life's fraudulent scheme,
Water rapidly flowing in the stream.
You've already passed and gone away
Like my love for you has died away.

A half-remembered dream,
It is you, as it may seem.
A dream as sublime as a flower garden,
But a dream that will soon be forgotten.

"Dear John
By the time you read these lines,
I will be gone."

The rocking chair,
The only piece of furniture
Remaining

"Dear John
By missing the deadline for your
Dissertation
The school will not have you
returning."

The books are boxed

The rocking chair rocks on
With every breath
Taken.

You don't have to die
To have lives wilt and cry.
Looking around through curious eyes
Nothing which was remains.

"Dear John
Your lease has expired
You will be moving on."

The rocking chair
Rocks on.

The twilight seeps in through
Windows without curtains.

The door opens
A moment of melancholy
The door closes

The rocking chair without him there
Becomes still
In the twilight air.

There is a timeless fashion and

I don't know what to do with the wind outside of everything you've ever believed in
But I implore you to reach out to be a thorn in my side

A sharp reminder that I'm still alive and well

How deep is your love? I want to drown where others only wish to soak in
You cannot fathom the depth of my devotion. Left within the ocean of a love that had no motion
Still waters still bother, my will falters at ill altars. At will I will myself to swim farther
How deep is your love?

i woke up this morning and forgot i didn't love  you

Breakfast
The morning spins lazily
out of the Universe’s black eye
like a surveillance camera
******* my paranoia.
I eat a small breakfast
of toads and do my coughing
exercises.
In the cellar the flesh
incinerator purrs for dinner
and is only satisfied with
one species of rare mammal.
My exotic summer guests,
strewn on the floor
like pickup sticks,
are becoming a burden,
so I toss one in the furnace
and hazily return to bed.